Warmth floods my face, and for some reason, I tell her, “I think I’d enjoy being married, but to someone who has her own life and doesn’t mind it if I pack up my telescope and take off upstate for a night of stargazing once in a while.”
“What if she wanted to go with you?” she asks.
I pause for a moment, imagining Serafina lying with me on a blanket and sipping hot toddies while we watched the Perseids meteor shower. The pleasantness of the image takes me by surprise. “I guess that wouldn’t be so bad. Unless she was a real chatterbug, of course.”
Serafina lets out a laugh. “A chatterbug?”
“Yeah, you know, someone who talks too much,” I tell her, feeling slightly irritated that she’s laughing at me.
“I know what it means. It’s just that … you have a distinct way of describing things.”
“You mean the nerd way?”
Shaking her head, she says, “A unique and refreshing way.”
Oh, well … that wasn’t the worst thing anyone’s ever said to me. Maybe this trip won’t be a total disaster after all…
Twenty-Three
Serafina
As a rule, I don’t sleep well anywhere but in my own bed. The problem is, I barely slept at all last night because my thoughts have been spinning all weekend trying to figure out how to block creepers from using my app for their sleazy intentions. I’m not a prude. In fact, I hope people have all the fun when they meet their match, I just don’t want anyone who isn’t looking for a man-whore to wind up on a date with Howard or Chaz.
As Ben and I walk toward our row, he asks, “Do you want the window or aisle?”
Waltraut told us that she would spring for first class being that we’re essentially hosts of the show. Had we only been guests, I’m assuming we would have had to fly economy — which is all I ever flew before my current app started doing so well.
“Window please,” I tell him. “I’m going to lean my head against the wall and try to get a power nap in.”
“Good for you,” he says. “I’ve never been able to sleep on a plane.”
I don’t bother telling him that my chances of actual unconsciousness — short of someone hitting me over the head with a frying pan first — are pretty slim. I just throw my carry-on overhead and grab a blanket. Then I scoot into my seat.
Miracle of miracles, I’m sound asleep before the plane even takes off. I’m so comfortable and cozy that I totally forget where I am. In my sleepy haze, the only thing I’m aware of is that I’m in somebody’s arms and, whoever he is, he smells positively edible! I love realistic dreams like these. Too bad they’re so few and far between.
I float along blissfully in the ether until a truly naughty dream captures my attention. I’m about to let my fingers investigate the man holding me, when I’m rudely jostled awake. I hear someone loudly exclaim, “Whoa!” before the body beneath me goes all rigid.
My eyes open slowly, and I realize I’m not alone in bed having an awesome dream. Reality hits me like a train. I’m on a flight to Orlando. Being that I fell asleep sitting next to Ben, the chances are pretty high that he’s the one I’m lying on. Gah! How do I ease away from him and still keep my dignity?
Before I can pretend I’m still sleeping and adjust myself away from him, he says, “I know you’re awake.”
Drat! I sit up slowly and blink my eyes repeatedly. “Ben? Where are we?” Playing dumb is my only option if I want to maintain decorum. I was basically groping the man.
“We’re on a plane on our way to Florida. Our density altitude just shifted.”
Blink, blink, blink. God, he’s cute with that wavy dark hair and mossy green eyes. When I don’t respond, he says, “We hit an air pocket.”
“I know what density altitude is,” I tell him (which isn’t entirely true, but a girl’s got to save face, especially when she’s feeling extra stupid).
After clearing his throat, Ben shifts away from me. “I wasn’t trying to be condescending.”
“How long before we get there?” I ask.
He points to the screen on the seat in front of him that shows the plane flying over a map. “We should start our descent at any time.”
And then, like magic, the pilot comes over the intercom and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Florida. The weather today is a balmy 89 degrees with a light wind. We’re about to start our descent into Orlando International Airport, so if you’ll please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened, we’ll be landing in about ten minutes.”
“You had a nice nap,” Ben says while avoiding all eye contact. He seems kind of nervous, which is no surprise as I was practically molesting him.
“I didn’t think I’d really fall asleep,” I tell him while shifting around to make sure my seat is up. “I’m sorry about, well, you know…” I indicate his lap area.
“No problem.” He still won’t look at me.
Awkward.
The plane starts a righteous rattle on its way down and I notice that Ben is white knuckling it. “You okay?” I ask.
“Yup.” He doesn’t elaborate.
By the time we land, he looks like he just rode on Space Mountain standing up. “Ben,” I reach out and touch his arm which causes him to jump.
“I’m not the world’s best flyer,” he confesses. “It’s why I never tried to become an astronaut myself.”
“Good call,” I tell him. “You do realize that air travel is safer than driving in a car, though, right?”
“Yeah, and most people don’t die when they parachute out of planes either, but I’m not standing in line to do that.”
We sit still while the passengers clear out around us. I like knowing that Ben has fears. I don’t take pleasure in the fact that he’s afraid of something, but he seems somehow more human now that I know he’s vulnerable to something.
As soon as we leave the plane, Ben starts to act like himself again. He stands straight and tall and seems to be all business. “I forgot to ask Waltraut if they were sending a car to pick us up,” I tell him.
“I assume they will.”
Pulling out my phone, I send Waltraut a quick text. Then I follow Ben as he power-walks through the airport. “Let’s head to baggage claim. That’s usually where the drivers are waiting with their signs.”
I’m about to ask him to slow down when we get to the automatic walkway. Once it ends, he’s back to sprinting. I don’t treat walking like it’s an Olympic event, so I’m glad when we arrive at baggage claim. Looking around, we don’t see anyone holding signs with our names.
“We can take a cab,” I tell Ben.
Before he can answer, I hear someone call out, “Serafina! Over here!!”
No, it can’t be …
I turn around and see my grandmother coming at me as fast as her nearly eighty-year-old legs will carry her.
“Abuela?” I ask in total shock. “What are you doing here?”
Her eyes are sparkling like a kid on Christmas morning. “Your mamá told us when you were landing so Abuelo and I decided to pick you up.”